


awaken

by krizzlesandblues



Series: mercy [1]
Category: Winner (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Explicit Language, Faeries - Freeform, Historical, M/M, Misunderstandings, Shifters, Temporary Amnesia, Trigger Warnings May Apply, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:08:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22084651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krizzlesandblues/pseuds/krizzlesandblues
Summary: For so long I remained hidden, for so long I remained imprisoned.For so long, the truth still remained concealed, smeared with lies and deception.For so long, everything has frozen within this cage.This work of fiction is crossposted ontwitter.
Relationships: Kang Seungyoon & Kim Jinwoo, Kang Seungyoon & Lee Seunghoon, Kang Seungyoon/Song Minho | Mino, Kim Jinwoo/Lee Seunghoon
Series: mercy [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1589641
Comments: 13
Kudos: 34





	awaken

**Author's Note:**

> Yay we’re back on the fanfic writing business (maybe)!
> 
> As most would probably know, this fic initially started on twitter, entitled as ‘Mercy.’ However, upon some consideration, I decided that I change the title of this one, and ‘Mercy’ would be the title of the trilogy. It’s a story in three parts, you see. *wink wink*
> 
> Like what I’ve previously mentioned, there are some changes and additions from the one posted on twitter. I’m not sure if you would notice them, unless you have read the fic and squint at the details. The plot for this story remains the same, however.
> 
> Nevertheless, I hope you would like and enjoy the fic like how I actually ended up getting invested in this story. Feel free to ask me on my twitter, or [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/hoonyslobelias), or just comment down here! As for additional details (races, Houses, or the mess that is the plot in general)…uh, I’m still sorting it out LOL so please don’t ask me much yet.
> 
> By the way, (belated) Happy New Year, everyone!

For so long I remained hidden, for so long I remained imprisoned.  
For so long, the truth still remained concealed, smeared with lies and deception.  
For so long, everything has frozen within this cage.  
For so long, after so _long_ , I closed my eyes instead.  
I forgot that time still passed outside, I forgot that there’s still chaos yet to be eased.  
Forgetting is easier than remembering, you see.  
  
And then one day, a savior swings by, granting me freedom I wasn’t sure if I still wanted.  
But is he really my savior?  
  


* * *

  


  
He doesn’t know how long has it been.

Has it been days? Weeks? Months—no, much, _much_ longer than that. Probably more than years now. A century, maybe?

Or millennia?

He doesn’t know.

But it’s been so long, being suspended in the air like this, hanging with a rope. Encased in a beautiful, cold glass cage for a sin he knows he had never committed.

_Or had he?_

He isn’t sure. His memories have started to blur as time slips by his fingertips.

He sighs. How many sighs have escaped his lips? He’d lost count.

The same way he’d lost count of all the pleas he’d been screaming in his head, the same way he’d lost count of the prayers he’d uttered for a shot at redemption.

Yet God seemingly doesn’t hear him, even in this cage.

He closes his eyes.

_It will be better_ , he muses, _if someone will just come in and snap the ropes undone_

_—to fall down, down, to feel the gravity again_

_**—and let the metal thorns below pierce him to his end.** _  
  


* * *

  


  
He hears a snip.

A frustrated groan as the rope slowly becomes undone, then his body tilting down.

He wants to open his eyes.

But what if—?!

—he then feels himself fall down, down, and he hears a pained grunt. As though someone caught him with his/her arms.

Warm. So _warm_. A racing pulse, the scent of forest and spice and coffee and acrylic and human blood.

And a heartbeat. It thuds so loud.

No— _heartbeats_.

“Hey, hey,” he hears a voice—deep and sounding worried, familiar yet strange. “Seungyoon? You with me?”

_Seungyoon?_ Who is he? Is that his name?

He feels a callused hand cup his cheek. So warm and oddly comforting. So unlike the temperature within the glass cage.

“Seungyoon, please—wake up.”

This person’s voice, whoever he may be, sounds so familiar. Like an old song sung over and over again, a melody he’s sure he’ll never forget.

Yet—

He struggles to open his eyes, wanting to know who saved him.

Small, cracked pair of lips, a piercing below the lower lip. Sharp jawline and cheekbones. Flawless, honey-kissed skin. 

Dark, worried eyes with the longest eyelashes he’d ever seen on a man.

Beautiful, deep eyes.

“Seungyoon,” that person sighs, his tired face glowing with relief. “Thank goodness you’re awake.”

Is he Seungyoon? Is his name Seungyoon?

His voice is familiar, like a lullaby hummed to him as a child. A piece played so many times he can probably play it with his eyes closed.

_And yet—_

“Who are you?” he hears himself whisper, voice rough from long disuse.

He watches the relief at the person’s—his savior, whoever this man is—face morph into an expression he cannot understand.

He sees pain…and heartbreak in those beautiful eyes.

He feels fingertips dance across his cheeks, then something wet drop against his cheek.

_Why—?_

“Let’s go back now, Seungyoon,” his savior murmurs, sounding a little broken as he looks away. “And get some rest.”

He closes his eyes and tries to ignore the clench in his heart—a clench he can never explain.  
  


* * *

  


  
He’d seen this coming.

Minho had seen this coming, yet it still hurt so much.

Seungyoon’s alive and safe and still in one piece—although he can’t ignore how pale his skin has become, almost translucent, with purplish bruises under his eyes.

Yes, Seungyoon’s alive and well.

Yet—

“Who are you?” he’d asked, his cloudy fox eyes dazed and confused as he’d stared up at him.

Minho bites his lower lip, agony and guilt threatening to rip him whole again.

“How is he?” he hears Seunghoon ask from behind, and Minho turns. The taller man is looking at him intently, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed.

“Still asleep,” Minho replies weakly, his eyes now back on the sleeping Seungyoon. He’d changed Seungyoon’s faded, worn clothing into fresh linen shirt and loose pants; Jinwoo had helped him to wash Seungyoon’s body.

“Vital stats?”

“All good. Jinwoo-hyung and Jiwon-hyung say he just needs a lot of rest.”

Minho becomes silent after that, afraid that his voice may betray him.

“And?” Seunghoon presses later on.

It takes a long moment before Minho responds. “It seems he doesn’t remember anything, hyung. He doesn’t remember…me.”

To which Seunghoon replies, albeit scathingly, “Isn’t it better if he doesn’t, Minho?”

Words—a million or so of them, piled up through the years of convincing himself—bubble up in Minho’s throat, wanting to retort sharply against Seunghoon’s remark.

At the same time, he knows that the older man is right. It is a painful truth he can never deny at all.

“For Seungyoon’s sake, yes,” Minho manages to reply.

“But not for you,” Seunghoon completes, a snarky grin on his face.

This time, Minho can’t stop himself, turning completely to face Seunghoon. “Hyung, I know I did a grave mistake and you’re still mad at me because of it—”

“You think it’ll be easy for me to forget that, Song Minho?” Seunghoon cuts him off with a scoff. “I’d warned you so many damn times about it—”

“Look, I’m really sorry about it and I am reflecting on my past actions—”

“And then what?” Seunghoon snaps angrily. “You’ll mess up again? Then wait until someone saves your sorry self again? Wait until Seungyoon—?”

“Okay, that’s enough, you stupid brats—let Yoonie sleep in peace,” Jinwoo stops them, stepping in before their argument gets worse. “Seunghoon, go out and hunt, you’ve been starving yourself for a long time already.”

“Hyung—” Seunghoon starts, but Jinwoo doesn’t let him finish.

“Minho, go rest for a while in your room; I’ll watch over Yoonie,” the eldest continues, ignoring Seunghoon. “Jiwon-hyung will come by later to check on him.”

“Tch,” Seunghoon rolls his eyes, but does as he’s told. 

Meanwhile, Minho refuses to move from his seat, not wanting to be separated from Seungyoon.

“Minho, really. Get some rest, you haven’t been taking care of yourself,” Jinwoo says worriedly, walking towards Minho’s side. “I don’t think Yoonie will like seeing you this way.”

“What’s the point, hyung?” Minho mutters bitterly, tears starting to prick his eyes. “He doesn’t remember me at all.”

The older man’s eyes widen, then he exhales heavily. He places his hands on the younger’s shoulders firmly and says, “Get some rest, Minho. We’ll deal with this later. Do you understand?”

Jinwoo’s dull crimson orbs bore deeply into Minho’s pitch-black ones. The latter sighs in resignation.

“All right,” he stands up from his seat. “Please take care of him.”

“Of course,” Jinwoo smiles slightly at him, taking his seat.

“And…” Minho mumbles from the doorway, pausing. “I’m really sorry, hyung.”

His apology is answered with a silent reply.  
  


* * *

  


  
He wakes up with a jolt, something fiery and dry ravaging his throat. There’s a primal need to be satisfied, to have something soft, something thick and viscous against his teeth—

—but the first thing he sees isn’t the intricate designs of the glass cage, or the dull gray skies outside the said cage.

Instead, he sees a ceiling—a room illuminated by a torch from the right wall—and an unfamiliar face.

An angelic, ethereal face—which smiles at him when his eyes land on his.

_Am I dead?_ He wonders to himself.

“Ah, finally,” the angel breathes in relief, his pretty ebony eyes glowing. “You’re awake now. Is there something I can get you?”

Soft and calming, like wind chimes singing in the spring rain—by any chance, is he probably—

“Am I dead?” he finds himself saying, his stare transfixed on the angel beside him.

The angel chuckles, reaching out to ruffle his hair. Surprisingly, he doesn’t flinch nor move away; this angel is a stranger to him, yet his touch is so gentle.

“You aren’t, Yoonie,” the angel tells him, smiling. “You were just asleep for a long while.”

Yoonie.

Is that his name?

But…much earlier…had not his savior called him _Seungyoon_? 

_Yoonie_ may be his nickname, or whatever that may be.

But really, he can’t think straight—there’s a strange burning in his throat, as if he thirsts for something he cannot put a finger into—

He rubs the side of his throat, trying to soothe the tongues of fire lapping against his neck. It doesn’t help.

It doesn’t help, because he can hear the angel’s heartbeat, crooning to him—a song he isn’t sure if he can try resisting. 

It doesn’t help, because his eyes are now riveted to the angel’s pale neck, beckoning him to come closer, a little more closer—  
—then sink his teeth and feel that elixir of a liquid flow through his teeth then down his throat—

He fists the sheets with his hand—so he’s lying in a bed now, he muses—because…he doesn’t want to do it. No—he’s resisting the urge to do it, as if hurting the angel is a capital sin.

The angel— _his supposed prey, the monster in him hisses_ —blinks, as if realizing his predicament. He shakes his head, an unmistakable glint of awe in his doe eyes. 

“You’re still not keen on killing humans or our kind, I see,” the angel remarks, a fond smile on his lips as he rises from his seat. The angel picks up a goblet from the bedside table, and gives it to him.

“Drink,” the angel says—orders—and he tries to hold the goblet with shaky hands. Seeing that he’ll have a hard time doing it, the angel puts the goblet down for a moment, helps him to sit up on the bed, then assists him in drinking the liquid from the goblet, whatever it may be.

The thick, rich liquid smells of salt and rust. Of life and energy—of sustenance and fire, likened to a honey or ambrosia drank by the gods—

The next thing he knows is he’s asking for another, and the angel gladly pours more for him.

After a while, the fire subsides in his throat.

“Are you okay now?” the angel asks.

He nods, feeling his lost energy come back to his system.

But he needs to ask. 

“Where am I?” he asks the angel. If this is heaven, he won’t mind—or if this is hell.

“You’re in my house,” the angel replies. Ah—so he probably isn’t dead yet. “You’ve been asleep for a long time, Yoonie. We’ve been really worried for you.”

Yoonie, _again_.

“Yoonie?” he asks. “Is that…is that my name?”

The angel’s eyes now look pained, a brittle smile on his lips. “Not really,” the angel finally says after a moment, smoothing his hair. “Your name is Seungyoon. I just…tend to call you Yoonie most of the time.”

Ah. So this angel probably knows him, and so does his savior.

But—

“My name’s Jinwoo, I’m sorry I haven’t introduced myself first,” the angel says again, interrupting his thoughts. “You may call me Jinwoo-hyung.”

_Jinwoo_. A name apt for such an angel like him.

Jinwoo—Jinwoo-hyung—traces of memories that had slipped away from his mind start to return, like dust crawling back to the surface—

“No, no, you don’t have to strain yourself, Yoonie,” Jinwoo-hyung says worriedly, his hands now cupping his temple, then his cheeks. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

He bites his lower lip, wanting to know more. Wanting to know why he hasn’t leapt up the bed and attacked Jinwoo-hyung, wondering why he feels so weak despite the blood satiating his hunger, why it feels like he’s…finally home.

Why there’s so much pain starting to rack his system from the inside despite the freedom and relief from that cursed glass cage.

“The one who cut off my rope…” he starts, his voice now less raspy. “Who is he, Jinwoo-hyung? Do you know him? He called me…he called me Seungyoon, too.”

A myriad of emotions flit across his waiflike face—pain, worry, confusion, anger. It perplexes him—perhaps it was a mistake for them to save him from that glass cage—?

“Minho,” Jinwoo-hyung says slowly, as if emphasizing every syllable. “He’s the one…who took you away.”

Minho. Minho.

_Minho?_

And—

It feels as if old wounds have started to gape anew, stinging and aching so much, as if blood has started to trickle out from them. Like fault lines reopening as an earthquake rocks his body, splitting him into two—or three, or into many pieces. 

Like someone has gripped his heart with a cold vise, making him unable to breathe—can his heart still beat, still function in this agony—?

His vision blurs, his eyes sting in an anguish he cannot remember, warmth spilling from them—

_Why?_

“No, no, don’t cry, Yoonie,” Jinwoo-hyung rises up from his seat and holds him tightly in his arms, rocking him gently. “Please don’t cry. It’s not your fault.”

Is he crying? What did Jinwoo-hyung mean—what isn’t his fault?

As mystified as he is now—since his memories have apparently deserted him—he lets Jinwoo-hyung hold him, he lets himself be comforted by a stranger who seems to know him.

And he lets himself sob in his arms for an agony he cannot remember at all.  
  


* * *

  


  
A mistake he had never committed, he was sure of it. A blunder he could never do against him—a sin he was sure to never do. 

But what was this, he lamented in his head as he was dragged towards the court, towards the man he’d faithfully sworn to serve.

What was this—what is this about to befall upon him—? 

His master’s eyes were cold. Merciless. Ruthless. As if emphasizing who he really was, after all—a cold-blooded ruler who spared no one. 

Before he could even speak— 

“Put him away,” he heard his master say, his bright crimson eyes piercing as he glared down at him. “To the glass cage.” 

No. No. No, please, no, **please no** — 

I beg you, **Minho** , no—   
  


* * *

  


  
“He’s more aware now,” Jinwoo tells Seunghoon as he enters the latter’s study room. “I think he gets a little more comfortable speaking with me, at the very least.”

Seunghoon sighs, putting down the parchment he was reading. “Is he getting better, hyung?”

“Well, I think the blood he’s drinking helps, considering he still prefers animal blood than human blood—” Jinwoo tries to say, but Seunghoon’s grim expression stops him.

He sighs, unable to disguise the heartbreak in his voice as he whispers, “He…he still doesn’t remember anything, Seunghoon. Only what little details I gave him—his name, my name…Minho’s name. Nothing else.”

Seunghoon’s hands curl into tight fists, fighting every single urge to stand up from his seat and do something violent. He takes several deep breaths to calm himself down, squeezing his eyes shut.

Jinwoo slowly approaches him, then rubs the younger man’s back gently, as if in comfort. “If there’s something that we have to be grateful for,” he says softly, “is that Seungyoon’s alive. If there’s something that we must thank our lucky stars for, it’s the fact that Seungyoon’s back with us.”

“And if there’s something I must be thankful for,” Seunghoon mutters bleakly, “it’s the fact that Seungyoon doesn’t remember Minho.”

Jinwoo remembers the bitter sobs that came from Seungyoon at the mention of his name, remembers the confusion in his tears as he choked the question “Why?” repeatedly.

Yet Jinwoo doesn’t say anything, and chooses to keep silent.  
  


* * *

  


  
Jinwoo leads him towards Seungyoon’s room, reminding—nagging—constantly not to overwhelm Seungyoon. He may be fully aware now, yet he’s still quite weak to comprehend anything new.

Despite his eagerness to see him once more, Seunghoon can’t help feeling apprehensive. The look in Jinwoo’s eyes after he talked a little with Seungyoon troubled him for days; what will it be like, to meet Seungyoon this time? He’d known what to probably expect, but—

“We’re here,” Jinwoo’s quiet voice pulls Seunghoon away from his thoughts, then the older man opens the door.

Seunghoon’s breath stops in his throat, happiness and ancient ache bursting forth from his heart, as his eyes meet Seungyoon’s.

The younger’s orbs are glistening rubies in the daylight that spills into his room, his alabaster skin slightly flushed pink. His eyes are wide with surprise and confusion, no hint of recognition in his youthful face.

Seunghoon’s heart breaks a little—and a little more when he notices Seungyoon smiling at Jinwoo when the eldest approached him. Seunghoon, on the other hand, remains at the doorway.

_‘So this is what’s it like to be unrecognized, huh.’_

“How are you today, Yoonie?” Jinwoo asks Seungyoon affectionately, ruffling the younger’s hair teasingly. 

“I’m fine now, Jinwoo-hyung,” Seungyoon tells him cheerfully, a lovely smile on his face. “They gave me new books to read earlier. But I haven’t finished most of them yet.”

Jinwoo chuckles lightly. “Don’t rush yourself, now. My house has a lot more books to read. If you’d like, I can show you my library.”

Seungyoon’s eyes literally sparkle at his words, his cheeks rosy with excitement and delight. “Really, really, hyung? Thank you!”

Seunghoon’s heart throbs at the sight before him, and he bites his lower lip. How he wishes Seungyoon always remained that way, a happy-spirited child who revels in small joys like this, like books and music—

“By the way, I have someone to introduce to you,” Jinwoo’s voice wakes Seunghoon from his crawling nightmare. “Don’t worry, he’s a friend—a nice hyung.”

With an encouraging smile from Jinwoo, Seunghoon steps towards them, a friendly smile on his face. “This is Seunghoon, Yoonie. You may call him Seunghoon-hyung,” the eldest introduces.

Seungyoon looks apprehensive as he stares at Seunghoon; well, it’s nothing surprising. With his sharp, small eyes, a nose piercing, and a buzz cut, anyone who sees him can’t help feeling cautious around him.

“Hello, Seungyoon,” he says smoothly, praying the youngest will not hear the relief in his voice. “It’s nice meeting you.”

_‘Again,’_ but Seunghoon doesn’t say that.

Seungyoon takes his proffered hand, a chilly pink touch to his callused one. “Me too, S-Seunghoon-hyung.”

Seunghoon smiles, feeling his tears prick with bittersweet sadness.

“Um…I hate to intrude, but…” Seungyoon looks down, playing with his fingers. “How…how do you know me?”

Seunghoon resists the overwhelming urge to hold him tightly.

“You’re a dear little brother to me,” Seunghoon says instead, smoothing Seungyoon’s hair. “Or almost a son.” And because he can’t resist, “Has Jinwoo-hyung told you anything, Seungyoon?”

Seungyoon’s eyebrows knit in confusion. “Jinwoo-hyung?”

“Ah, it’s because I’m the eldest,” Jinwoo quickly explains, laughing lightly in embarrassment. “I’m sorry I haven’t mentioned that.”

Seunghoon rolls his eyes at him. “Back to my question, Seungyoonie?” he asks hopefully.

It takes a moment before Seungyoon answers. “Jinwoo-hyung said I stay with him in this house sometimes. He said I have trusted friends…he said I’m safe here,” he utters the last part softly, as if—as if doubting them.

Not surprising. Being locked away inside such cursed, cold glass cage does that to anyone—and Seungyoon is no exception.

“You are safe here,” Seunghoon stresses, holding Seungyoon’s wrist firmly. “No one will ever dare hurt you here. Do you understand?”

Seungyoon stares at him owlishly, as if trying to make sense of his words. It doesn’t matter to Seunghoon if the younger won’t trust him that much yet. So long as he’s happy, so long as he’s out of harm’s way, so long as he will never be tainted by pain again—

“Okay, hyung,” Seungyoon smiles at him sunnily, his red eyes warm. Trusting and friendly.

Just like all those days when Seungyoon openly entrusted Seunghoon to do things for him, to protect him—

This time, Seunghoon can’t resist embracing him in his arms, burying his head against the younger’s shoulder.

Vanilla and lavender. Sunshine and spring.  
Seungyoon. His adorable little child, alive—

“I’m glad you’re here,” Seunghoon whispers, voice gruff with emotion.

The younger stills at his sudden action, and then—

Seunghoon feels lanky arms wrap around his body, and then a soft cheek against his shoulder.

“Me too, hyung,” Seungyoon whispers. “Me too.”  
  


* * *

  


  
“The House Kim reports that Kang Seungyoon’s starting to recover fully, my lord,” Chief Aide Eun Jiwon reports, his eyes on the parchment sent to the palace. “He isn’t that well enough yet to hunt on his own, but he’s very responsive.”

Minho only hums as a reply, his eyes staring at somewhere far away.

“Furthermore, they—well, Minister Kim—ask that Kang Seungyoon’s presence be kept secret for now, considering the past and current…circumstances,” Jiwon adds. “He will be presented again to the palace later on, once he’s fully recuperated.”

Minho answers with a long, deep sigh. “Is that so.”

“That’s all Minister Kim wrote, my Lord,” Jiwon tells him, rolling up the parchment. “Although, if you’ll let me speak my thoughts, I’m really glad Seungyoon’s getting better. It’s quite understandable if they’ll shelter him for a while, however, considering that Minister Lee’s also staying at House Kim these days—or so the rumors say.”

“Of course he’ll be staying there,” Minho mutters absentmindedly, “and probably keep me away from Seungyoon for as long as he could.”

Jiwon falls silent, his eyes tight yet concerned as he stares at him.

“Jiwon-hyung.” Minho says quietly, closing his eyes, “Was I really too late?”

Jiwon is quiet for a long moment before he answers. “I have no words for that, Minho-ya,” he says, dropping the formalities. “Yes, you managed to save Seungyoon from that cage—although, if I have to be honest, it doesn’t really fix much, Minho.”

Minho laughs bitterly, slapping a hand to his face in frustration. “I guess I’m beyond salvation now, or should I say—I don’t think I even deserve forgiveness. Not that I mind.”

“You say that,” Jiwon sighs, “yet I know otherwise.”

Minho smiles humorlessly—a brittle smile about to crack. “Is there even a way to redeem myself? Maybe not for Jinwoo-hyung or for Seunghoon-hyung…but Seungyoon. Will he…will he even…”

Jiwon remains silent, crossing his arms as he watches Minho scramble for his thoughts.

“Seungyoon will eventually remember, Minho,” Jiwon finally murmurs. “It’s just a matter of knowing whether he will forgive you—or will choose to forget you for good.”  
  


* * *

  


  
“I’m very thankful for your hospitality, Minister Kim,” Lady Kang smiles tearfully as she bows to Jinwoo. “I wouldn’t know what to do with my son, after all what happened.”

“It’s nothing, Lady Kang,” Jinwoo says reassuringly. “And please, drop the formalities. Aren’t we considerably a family now?”

“Ah yes, that’s right, Jinwoo-ya,” Lady Kang chuckles, wiping her tears with the sleeve of her robes. “And—thank you too, Seunghoonie. You’ve been a great help.”

Seunghoon beams as a reply.

“Could I not really take Seungyoon with me, Jinwoo?” she asks, stroking Seungyoon’s hair and cupping his cheek. He is asleep on her lap, a little tired after entertaining and assuring his troubled mother. “I missed him so—could he not be with me at home?”

“I understand your worries, Aunt,” Jinwoo says, “yet it is currently pretty risky for now. After all, peace is still yet to truly settle in this land. Besides, you can always visit him here—and we assure you that he will always be secure here.”

“Our hometown is still plagued with rebels, anyway,” Seunghoon adds. “It doesn’t help that it’s so close to the border, thus the danger will always be present.”

Lady Kang sighs heavily, looking down at her son, peacefully in slumber. “He has endured so much,” she murmurs forlornly, “and yet he still fights. Would it be odd of me to say that it would be better if he does not remember anything anymore, other than happy memories?”

Jinwoo chuckles, a hint of bleakness in his laughter. “We share your sentiments, Aunt—although, we must admit, his amnesia pretty stings.”

Lady Kang reaches out to smooth Jinwoo’s hair in consolation. “He will remember in time, child,” she says softly. Then with a pat to Seunghoon’s cheek she adds, “You two are like his older brothers, after all.”

After a quiet moment she asks, albeit a little grudgingly, “Is it true that it was His Highness himself who saved my son from that cursed cage?”

“Yes,” Seunghoon answers stiffly. “It can’t be helped—only he and his closest kin can enter such cage without being harmed so much. He managed to rescue Seungyoon before it was too late, at least.”

“I see,” she nods to herself. “Has he visited Seungyoon?”

“Once,” Jinwoo replies. “The night after he saved him, he came into my house to watch over him.”

“Did he not return after that?”

Jinwoo smiles wryly. “Seunghoon here is too agitated to have Minho around.”

Lady Kang titters in understanding, catching Seunghoon smile a little guiltily. “Ah, yes, of course he will be.”

“By the way, I hate to intrude your hospitality, but—” Lady Kang starts, then pauses. “Well, I think I have to stay for a day or so here, if you wouldn’t mind, Jinwoo. I’ll leave sooner or later, though.”

“You may stay longer here, Aunt,” Jinwoo holds her hand gently yet firmly. “Seungyoon would want you around here—”

“No, son, I can’t,” she interrupts. “Somebody has to watch over the House Kang; so far, out of all the Houses in Busan—or in all of Gyeongsang, for that matter—only very few managed to stand and remain. I don’t think I can just watch Busan struggle to rise again.”

Seunghoon stiffens at her words, then straightens. “Should I return with you to Gyeongsang, Aunt?”

“No need, Seunghoon—the Royal House needs your strength,” Lady Kang waves her hand dismissively. “I believe your father and your sisters will say the same thing.”

“But—”

“Son, they need you here in Seoul more than in Busan,” she stresses, a ring of authority in her motherly voice. “It would be best if you remain here than coming back with me.”

Seunghoon sighs heavily. “As you wish.”

“Would you need any more help, though?” Jinwoo asks. “The House is more than willing to extend a hand, Aunt.”

“No, son, it’s fine,” Lady Kang shakes her head. “We can still manage, anyway. But—we’ll let you know, just in case.”

“If you say so, Aunt.”  
  


* * *

  


  
At Seungyoon’s (insistent) request, Jinwoo escorts him to the Royal Library along with some guards. On their way, Jinwoo repeatedly tells the younger not to wander off too much, as the library is too big, even larger than his house’s library.

As soon as the chaise reached the library’s main gate, Jinwoo had to literally hold off the excited Seungyoon from jumping down and bolting off. It was pretty difficult, considering that Seungyoon has recovered some of his strength—and Jinwoo had a hard time on not giving in to the younger’s adorable pouting.

“We still have to keep you hidden, remember?” Jinwoo reminds him gently, chuckling at Seungyoon’s attempts to escape from his arms. “Besides, it’s not as if the library will run away from you, Yoonie.”

Seungyoon only pouts once more as a reply, but stops wriggling anyway.

With a thick veil over his head and dark robes over his regular ones, Seungyoon skips towards the library’s entrance, Jinwoo beside him with a hand on the small of his back. 

The library’s guards block them from the entrance, a stern look on their faces. Seungyoon recoils a little, a growl bubbling from his chest, about to erupt.

“We wish that you let us enter,” Jinwoo declares, his glittering red eyes meeting the guards’ dark ones. “I believe you have received His Highness’ letter about granting us permission, yes?”

“Who is that with you, Minister Kim?” one of the guards asks stiffly. “Please understand our protocol—you know that we value the Royal House’s security more than anything else.”

Jinwoo sighs in resignation, and tells Seungyoon in a soft voice, “Yoonie, let your veil down a little—just enough to show your face.”

Seungyoon glances at him worriedly, biting his lower lip. Jinwoo smiles at him reassuringly, patting his head.

At that, Seungyoon pulls down the cloth a little, looking up at the guards. It takes a short moment before the guards recognize him, shock and awe registering on their faces.

“My Lord—!” they utter in shock, but Jinwoo’s voice cuts them off.

“Now that you know, let us in,” he says, his voice close to a snarl. “And do not let anyone know of his existence. Am I understood?”

The guards nod frantically, stepping back to let them in. 

Jinwoo prays Seungyoon never noticed the look in the guards’ eyes as they stared at him—or the quiver in their lips as they let them pass.

  


**

  


Once Seungyoon and Jinwoo were inside, they pick up a few books and parchments to read from the shelves. Jinwoo, however, notices the preoccupied look in Seungyoon’s eyes, as if there was something troubling him.

He pulls the younger gently with him and makes him sit across from him on the floor, a low table between them.

“Yoonie,” Jinwoo asks, pressing his hand softly. “What’s wrong?”

“Jinwoo-hyung,” Seungyoon mumbles after a moment, looking down as he fidgets with the hem of his robe sleeve. “I…I don’t understand. Why…?”

Jinwoo waits patiently, ignoring the pang in his heart as he watched the younger struggle with words.

“Why…did they look at me…as if I was their Master?” Seungyoon whispers, a look of discomfort and bafflement on his face. “It’s also how…the servants looked at you back at home, hyung.”

_Oh_. So he’d noticed, after all.

“Yoonie,” Jinwoo begins, reaching out to smooth Seungyoon’s hair. The younger flinches a little from his hand, and Jinwoo’s heart clenches with agony and regret.

“Seungyoon, it’s because you are—were, rather,” Jinwoo sighs, giving in to the truth. To hell with protecting him from the truth. “You’re actually a high-ranking member of the Royal House, the Head of the House Kang.”

Seungyoon gasps in shock, his face blanching. “I—I’m a—what—?”

“Seungyoon, Seungyoon, listen to me very well, okay?” Jinwoo quickly tells him, holding his cold hands firmly. “I guess it’s better to tell you as much as you could take—but do breathe first, okay?”

Seungyoon nods, taking deep breaths. It takes a while before the rosy hue returns to his cheeks, and with his eyes, asks Jinwoo to continue.

“You’re Kang Seungyoon, Head of the House Kang and one of the Royal House’s main strategists and grand commanders,” Jinwoo starts, eyes locked on Seungyoon’s.

“Seunghoon, on the other hand, is also a Head, too—the Head of House Lee and one of the Royal Ministers. I’m the Head of House Kim in Jeolla, and also one of the Ministers—although I’m more on the scholarly part of things, while Seunghoon’s on the warfare.”

Seungyoon continues to listen, engrossed and rendered mute by Jinwoo’s story.

“Actually, your position is higher than mine or Seunghoon’s, so you’re technically our superior. Although, I have to say, you’ve always treated us as one of your equals,” Jinwoo continues, smiling slightly.

“Right now, though, your mother is the temporary Head of your House,” Jinwoo says. “That explains her hasty return to Busan days ago.”

“Mother did mention that,” Seungyoon says softly. “But…why? Why hasn’t she told me all about…that?”

Jinwoo sighs deeply. “It’s because she’s very much worried—terrified—for your safety, Yoon,” he tells him. “Initially, she’d asked Seunghoon and me to not disclose stuff about you, but I reckoned you would just ask us sooner or later. Anyway, it’s not as if we can’t hide everything from you.”

“Is…is that so…” the helplessness in Seungyoon’s voice broke Jinwoo’s heart a little. He wasn’t like this before; the immortal before him was always a bright ball of sunshine, his ideas and leadership awe-inspiring to officials and commoners alike.

Not to mention that he was such a powerful vampire, his skill in fighting and hunting cleverly hidden in his seemingly frail-looking body.

And now—

“Hyung,” Seungyoon’s suddenly firm voice yanks him away from his thoughts. “Tell me more. Teach me more. I want to know more about myself—and my duties. Please.”

Jinwoo gapes at him, blinking in astonishment. “Seungyoon—but—” he stammers.

“Hyung, I don’t want to linger in the shadows anymore,” Seungyoon tells him, his ruby fox eyes blazing. “I’m very thankful for taking care of me and keeping me safe, but I just can’t stand being a sitting duck.”

Jinwoo is speechless.

“Please, hyung. I know I’m still yet to regain my memories as well as my strength—but I want to be of help now. I want to be that person you and Mother had told me about,” Seungyoon insists.

Jinwoo can only stare at him in shock, still trying to digest his words. So the Kang Seungyoon he knew hadn’t exactly dissolved into nothing; as if that person had only fallen asleep within the cage and now had woken up—

Jinwoo hastily stands up from the floor and glides through the shelves and shelves of books. He picks up a good number of books along with select parchments, then returns to their table and dumps them all in front of Seungyoon.

“If you wish to learn,” Jinwoo says resolutely, his own soul waking up from pain of almost losing Seungyoon, “then start reading all these. Once you’re done, you have to explain everything to me—in a way even illiterate commoners can understand.”

Seungyoon swallows nervously at his sudden shift of mood, and Jinwoo fights his urge to crack an amused smile. If Seungyoon’s this determined to rise up from ashes—

“Okay,” Seungyoon nods, then picks up a book. “Please give me some time to finish all of them.”

—then he might as well start helping him this time.  
  


* * *

  


  
To say that Seunghoon and Jinwoo were beyond impressed is probably an understatement.

It seems that Seungyoon’s abilities never dulled one bit, or diminished at all. His speed, agility, and mental skills are still as sharp and terrifying as it was before he was imprisoned.

His knowledge in languages, decoding, and strategizing was still there, possibly just buried deep in Seungyoon’s mind. With Jinwoo’s help, Seungyoon was able to regain them—even improve them in a short period of time. 

On the other hand, Seunghoon had to help re-polish Seungyoon’s hunting skills, although it came with some little hurdles.

For one, Seungyoon seemed to have a hard time dealing with Seunghoon’s harsh teaching methods; after all, he got used to the gentle, doting Seunghoon-hyung when he was still recovering.

Also, Seungyoon always fought back that primal, predatory instinct to rip Seunghoon’s throat whenever they had training sessions, as if terrified of hurting him.

“Seungyoon, it’s all right,” Jinwoo had repeatedly assured him, smiling. “It’s not as if Seunghoon’s not used to it” —Seunghoon had let out a growl of protest at that—”and it’s for your own good, anyway. Besides, he won’t bear you any grudge for a swipe or two, right?”

Seunghoon had answered with a snarl, as if agreeing with Jinwoo. He then shifted his body into a crouch, his golden eyes glittering with challenge and adrenaline as he stared at Seungyoon, taunting him to attack.

“No grudge?” Seungyoon had asked again, as if confirming Jinwoo’s words.

“No grudge,” Jinwoo had shaken his head, still smiling.

“Okay,” Seungyoon nods and crouches down himself, snarls erupting from his chest. The large panther—Seunghoon—across from him growls in anticipation, his claws now out.

“Don’t get mad at me for this, Seunghoon-hyung,” Seungyoon warns playfully, and then leaps up in the air, his hands and fangs aiming for the panther’s jugular.

  


**

  


“I think you kinda overdid it, Yoonie,” Jinwoo remarks with a laugh while he treats Seunghoon’s bruises at his back. “You did manage to take him down, though.”

Seungyoon only frowns at him, his full lips pushed into a remorseful pout as he helps Jinwoo.

Seunghoon chuckles, reaching out to ruffle the youngest immortal’s hair. “It’s fine, Yoonie,” he reassures him. “I’ve had worse than this—although, I have to confess, your attacks are stronger than I’d thought.”

Seungyoon looks down apologetically. “Sorry, hyung,” he mumbles.

“Aish, this brat,” Seunghoon tuts and holds Seungyoon’s wrist gently. “It’s okay, really. At least I know your strength is returning—and in time, you’ll be able to defend yourself.”

Seungyoon looks at him with desolate eyes, like a sad puppy—and Seunghoon can’t resist. He pinches his pink cheeks, cooing as he does.

“So cuuuuuuuuuuuute!” he teases in a high-pitched voice, making Jinwoo laugh out loud.

“Hyung!” Seungyoon protests in pain, swatting the older man’s hands away.

Seunghoon chortles in amusement. “Relax now, Seungyoonie. Us shifters heal faster than you guys—well, okay, with the exception of this guy here,” he grins up at Jinwoo, who smiles at him in return.

At Seungyoon’s bemused expression Jinwoo says, “Perks of being a faerie. Quite literally.”  
  


* * *

  


  
Seungyoon has other motives in re-learning everything he knew—or rather, used to know.

That cursed glass cage. Why was he even imprisoned there in the first place? Why was he suspended high up in the air, waking to the sight of somber gray skies and desolate weather?

Had he committed a crime? If so, what crime?

(He’d heard whispers and rumors around him about that glass cage—and that part when Seunghoon-hyung mentioned that only very few people can get inside the cage without being harmed while he was half-asleep in his mother’s lap. Seungyoon had deduced that if he really was guilty of something, it must have been _that_ grave.)

And his savior—Minho, that was his name. 

Who was he, exactly? Why was his voice so familiar, like a favored poem he’d heard aloud, or a little song being sung over and over again? Why was his touch against his own skin so warm, eyes so dark and deep—

—and what was the unexplainable agony wrenching his heart whenever he heard his name, or remembered his face?

Seungyoon wanted to know. He had to know.

Even if his gut was telling him it was probably better if he wouldn’t.  
  


* * *

  


  
The peace within the Kim household is temporarily disturbed by the arrival of a letter from the Royal House, requesting that all Royal Ministers and Head of all Houses attend the assembly. This will be in regards to the rehabilitation of the kingdom after the long war.

“Would this be a good chance to introduce Seungyoon to the Royal House?” Jinwoo asks Seunghoon, a little unsure himself.

“I really don’t think so,” Seunghoon mutters, rolling up the parchment. “After all, Seungyoon’s misgauged incarceration is still quite a sensitive topic, and I don’t know if it will bring any good at all. Sure, it’s been clarified already years ago, but you know how some of the Ministers thought and reacted about that.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Jinwoo sighs. “Not to mention, Seungyoon’s still yet to recover all his memories…”

“That, and I really am not sure what would happen if he’s present,” Seunghoon adds. “Probably Lady Kang will attend…”

A small, humorless laugh escapes Jinwoo’s lips. “Aren’t we protecting Yoonie too much, Seunghoon? It’s bad enough that we didn’t tell him much of the truth, only the surface…don’t you think we should be a little more transparent now?”

Seunghoon exhales, frustrated. “Yeah, you have a point right there, hyung,” he agrees. “I just…maybe I just don’t want him to be hurt too much again. I don’t think I can bear seeing him suffer again because of—of what happened.”

“But wouldn’t it hurt more for Seungyoon,” Jinwoo asks, “if we keep him in the dark forever?”

Seunghoon becomes quiet.  
  


* * *

  


  
The Assembly Hall still screams of the luxury and power the Royal House of Song boasts of, despite the scars of war etched on its walls. All of the Royal Ministers and Heads of Houses are present, quietly chatting among themselves.

The members of the Royal House arrive a little later though, with Minho at the front. His Chief Aide, Jiwon, walks beside him, piles of parchment on his arms.

All Ministers and Heads rise, seeing him, and Minho gestures with his hand to sit down.

“I am very much thankful for your presence here, gracious Ministers and Heads,” Minho starts. “I’ll cut to the chase—the kingdom is still on the process of rehabilitating itself, and I must say, it is quite slow. There have been improvements, yes, but I’m afraid that it is not yet enough.”

“Some of the Houses have been terribly decimated after all, Your Highness,” Minister Jung laments. “Only very few Houses remain in some of the provinces, and they are in dire need of assistance from other Houses.”

Most of the Heads hum and nod in agreement, worry in their faces.

“Which is why we need cooperation from among the Houses—and even among the Ministers,” Seunghoon—the Head of House Lee, and also one of the Royal Ministers—stresses. “However, as far as I’ve observed, not very many are willing to lend a hand, even to their fellow Houses within the same province.”

“You must understand, Minister Lee,” one of the heads exclaim, “that not all of us can afford to even spare a dime or two to others! We cannot even feed our own families—how are we even supposed to feed others as well?”

“There is no need to feed others, Lord Choi,” Seunghoon says calmly. “Only to help in every way that we can.”

“But—!”

“Or,” a devious smile curls Seunghoon’s lips up, “are you afraid of losing what remains of your wealth, which, in return, will eventually affect your power and hold to a province?”

Lord Choi’s eyes widen at his words, anger and a tinge of fear in his eyes as he stands up in indignation. “Minister Lee! Watch your—!”

“Stand down, Lord Choi,” Minho orders quietly, his stern eyes on the Head. 

Lord Choi sits down once more, huffing, while Seunghoon merely smiles, as if unaffected.

“We will need an extensive plan on restoring our land, which is another reason why I called you,” Minho says, as if nothing had happened. “I needed all of your reports regarding your respective areas, as well as your suggestions. I have a few ideas myself, but I believe yours will be better, as you have more understanding of what had happened in your places. Do you have them?”

The Heads quickly gave their respective reports to the waiting servants behind them, then the servants immediately placed them by Minho’s sides. “Well? Any ideas?”

The Assembly Hall is quiet, with some of the Heads biting their lips in trepidation and unease. Seunghoon smiles, albeit darkly, as he observes the varying expressions on the Heads’ faces.

He steals a look at Minho from the corner of his eye, his amber eyes glinting. Minho gets the message, sighing in annoyance.

_These useless, selfish creatures—_

“My Lord,” Jiwon suddenly whispers. “I don’t see the Head of the House Kang anywhere. Is she present?”

Surprised, Minho looks around, looking for any sign of Lady Kang—or at least of her proxy. He spots none, but an empty space on her usual seat.

“Minister Kim,” Minho addresses Jinwoo, “will there be no representative for the House Kang today?”

At that, Jinwoo purses his lips in worry, his face tightening. “The representative will arrive shortly,” he says a little later. “There has been…a little trouble needed to be dealt first, I believe. Rest assured that such representative will arrive, as per the letter sent to you earlier.”

Minho nods; such news catches the Heads’ attention however, the thought of providing input briefly forgotten.

“It’s odd, the House Kang has never been late nor absent,” one of the Heads muses. “Lady Kang must have fallen ill…”

“…or probably her son is causing her problems?” another whispers maliciously. “That child, now rendered useless and limp…”

A snarl bubbles up in Minho’s chest, fury starting to cloud his mind. Seunghoon and Jinwoo have similar expressions as well, the latter’s deer eyes glowing magenta—

—the Hall’s doors suddenly open, and all turn to see who it was.

Minho’s breath catches in his throat, his heart tightening as his eyes register who the person is.

Deep blue silk robes dance and float in the air as he enters the Hall, his silver-blue hair shimmering in the sunlight. A few aides trail close behind him, scrolls on their arms.

The Hall falls hushed as the doors close, his presence now fully known to everyone.

“My sincerest apologies for my tardiness, Your Highness,” he says reverently, bowing. “My mother is currently sick, and I have come here in her stead.”

  


**

  


Silver-blue hair, creamy skin, rosy hues on his cheeks and hands, a graceful body wrapped in deep blue silk robes embroidered with the intricate symbols of the Kang household.

_Seungyoon._

For a long second Minho forgets how to speak. Or breathe.

Jiwon slightly nudges him, and Minho is jolted awake.

“Is that so?” Minho says, and prays no one will hear the stutter in his voice. “Do rise, and proceed to your place” —how shall he address him? —”Lord Kang.”

“As you wish,” Seungyoon rises up from where he’s bowing and walks—glides, Minho thinks—towards his seat, with his aides tailing behind him.

Probably sensing that Minho’s too taken aback to even speak, Jiwon tells Seungyoon, “His Highness has gathered everyone here in regards to the kingdom’s rehabilitation, as well as to gather intel and suggestions from everyone present. Do you have your reports with you, Lord Kang?”

Seungyoon nods, and gestures for his aides to hand the scrolls to the Royal servants. “You mentioned suggestions, Chief Aide?” he asks, tilting his head a little.

“Yes, Lord Kang,” Jiwon replies. “We are still yet to hear them, though.”

Seungyoon smiles, as if he’d expected this to happen. “I have a suggestion myself,” he says, addressing everyone present this time. “However, it is not yet definite, as I don’t have much knowledge of the other provinces, other than that of Gyeongsang and Jeolla. May I present them, your Highness?”

_Maybe his memories have returned. Maybe he remembers. Maybe—_

“Do so,” Minho says, nodding. “We will listen.”

  


**

  


Jinwoo beams proudly at Seungyoon as the latter explains his ideas, with the help of a large map of the kingdom and some markers. It seemed that Seungyoon had worked so hard for this—even if he had limited time on his hands to do so.

Initially, it would be either him or Seunghoon who would present Seungyoon’s ideas, which Seungyoon himself prepared for days. However, when one of the House Kang’s servants arrived at Jinwoo’s house to tell of Lady Kang’s condition, Seungyoon volunteered to do it himself.

Although reluctant at first, Seunghoon agreed with him, immediately writing a note about a representative attending as proxy for Lady Kang.

_Which is quite odd,_ Jinwoo had mused a little later, _considering that Seungyoon is the real Head of the House._

Meanwhile, beside him, Seunghoon watches the begrudging looks of awe and surprise on the Ministers’ and Heads’ faces as Seungyoon discusses, highlighting a few points or so.

“Well, look at that,” Seunghoon remarks amusedly. “It’s pretty hard to believe that one of the best strategists we’ve ever had is back with us, explaining things to those who thought he was long dead.”

“They have no choice but to do all that; they know that His Highness will probably agree to everything Yoonie says,” Jinwoo assents.

“I’m quite worried on what will happen after this, though,” Seunghoon murmurs, his tone now somber. “This may cause a ruckus—somewhat—once everybody learns that Seungyoon is back.”

“That’s true.”

“Are there any questions, or reactions, dearest Lords?” Seungyoon asks, straightening. He’s probably done with all the explaining part. “Or will there be any suggestions?”

Minho raises his hand, and Seungyoon acknowledges it. “How were you able to gather information like this?” Minho asks, curious. “You say you don’t know much, but from what I’ve gleaned, it seems you know more.”

Jinwoo smiles inwardly. _As observant as ever._

Seungyoon smiles, undeterred. “I have asked some of my servants back home at Busan to do some research for me, with the help of those from Houses Lee and Kim,” he nods at Seunghoon’s and Jinwoo’s direction. “Also, the resources from the Royal Library were very much of help—and I did a little observation myself.”

Minho inches forward from his seat, his interest now fully captured. “You must be aware that the funds are quite low, Lord Kang,” he furthers. “How are your plans going to work?”

“If all Houses will lend a hand towards each other,” Seungyoon replies, “it will be a lighter burden for all of us—and even to the Royal House. As I’ve mentioned earlier, each House has their own strengths and weaknesses—to which, as far as I’ve observed, complements fairly that of the others’. I know it is not easy to do that, considering the circumstances, but” —he takes a look around the Hall—”it is the best idea, so far. It’s actually a win-win solution; everybody helps, everybody benefits from it. No one will be enriched at the expense of others.”

“And if some attempt to enrich themselves?”

Seungyoon grins. “Well, it will be a great loss to them.”

The weight of Seungyoon’s words buries deep in the Heads’ minds, and Jinwoo shakes his head in admiration. Sure, Seungyoon’s quite younger than he is…but he is more advanced than everyone.

“That’s my boy,” he hears Seunghoon mumble proudly.

Minho takes a deep breath, an impressed smile on his lips. “Still the same as ever,” he murmurs to himself before he turns towards the crowd. “Lord Kang’s suggestion will be pondered upon by all of you, unless you have other suggestions…?”

The Hall is silent.

“If that is so, raise your right hand if you agree with Lord Kang’s idea.”

No hands are raised, except for Jinwoo’s and Seunghoon’s.

Then another.

Another Head, then a Royal Minister.

Two Heads raise their hands.

Several more follow suit.

Until everybody present is raising their hand.

Minho smiles, satisfied. “The plan will be studied further, including all of the reports you’ve given,” he says. “I’ll call you once more as soon as it’s finalized.”

He rises up, and all of the Royal Ministers and House Heads do so as well. With a nod Minho utters, “You are all dismissed.”

  


**

  


Seungyoon is met and greeted by most of the Ministers and Heads present, saying their warm greetings and how-are-you’s. Some even commented that there’s a chance his old position as main strategist and advisor may be given back to him again.

Others are just delighted to have Seungyoon back.

Of course, Jinwoo and Seunghoon do most of the explaining, while trying to make the overwhelmed Seungyoon feel at ease. After all, it’s been a long time since Seungyoon blended himself with such a crowd—and no one should know of his real condition. Yet.

“Was I really treated like that, though?” Seungyoon gripes, pouting as they stroll towards their resting place. “They were all over me; I thought I wouldn’t be able to breathe!”

Seunghoon chuckles, ruffling Seungyoon’s hair. “You’re one famous figure, Yoonie,” he tells the younger, smiling teasingly. “Our Yoonie is too amazing, you see~”

Seungyoon frowns at him, annoyed.

“So we’re staying here for a while?” Jinwoo asks, clearly changing the subject. “Along with some Ministers?”

“Seems so,” Seunghoon hums. “Aish, I sense future headaches incoming…”

“Do I really have to be here, though?” Seungyoon asks, a little worried.

“Well, you’re the one who thought of the plan,” Jinwoo says, smiling. “So it only makes sense for you to stay here.”

Seungyoon pouts. “I want to go home,” he whines, and Jinwoo and Seunghoon smile in understanding.  
  


* * *

  


  
The feel of the guzheng’s strings against his fingers were a comfort to him after a long day, exhausted after all those arguments and never-ending discussions. He plucked a string or two, playing on a few notes, until he settled on playing a song he liked most. 

He heard footsteps padding towards him, yet he did not turn. He knew whose footsteps were those, anyway. 

“You really should be working on your correspondences, Yoon,” **he** said. “Instead of playing your guzheng.” 

He made a face, continuing to play the instrument anyway. “They’re too many,” he complained. “I’ll just work on them when I feel like it.” 

**He** laughed, dark eyes sparkling in amusement. “I’ll probably hear you whining about hating procrastination later on, then,” **he** teased. 

“Shut up.” 

The afternoon sun permeated gently inside the room, warming his cold skin. The scent of jasmine, peach blossoms and citrus danced with the spring air, with the birds chirping outside as if singing along to the song. 

He closed his eyes, surrendering to the music—and to **his** very presence inside. 

He felt **him** lean against his body, **his** cheek smushed against his shoulder. 

He wished it was always like this. 

__ In a quiet room, accompanied with peace, **Minho** by his side—   
  
__

* * *

__  
_ _

__  
Seungyoon opens his eyes, waking up from his dream._ _

___What was that?_ he asks himself, scrambling to remember bits of it. A small room in a house by a large garden, a guzheng in front of him, scent of early spring, and Minho—_ _

__Minho, _again_._ _

__Why was he there with him?_ _

___And what_ —he rubs his chest absentmindedly— _is this agonizing pain?__ _

___Do I know him, other than him being my Master—?_ _ _

__He stills, the words catching him by surprise._ _

What… _Master?_  
  


* * *

_  
_

__  
They stay within the Royal Palace for the next few days, helping out in the planning and strategizing everything. Not surprisingly, it’s Seungyoon who spearheads almost everything, with Seunghoon helping him in regards to any possibilities of a skirmish._ _

Although the workload is overwhelming, Seungyoon finds his tasks quite bearable, his body and mind as if conditioned to work under pressure. Admittedly, it was hard for him to act as if he doesn’t suffer from amnesia especially around the Royal Ministers, other than Jinwoo-hyung and Seunghoon-hyung. 

However, little by little, it feels as if a few of his memories return, yet there’s still a gaping void in his mind—something that still bothers Seungyoon. 

  


**  


  


Seungyoon stretches his arms and lets his body fall flat to the floor, exhausted after a long day of reading countless scrolls. His eyes are tired, his body is tight with fatigue—and he’s thirsty. Very thirsty. 

Thankfully, Jinwoo-hyung left him a bag full of bottles of animal blood—tiger’s and some fox’s blood; his favorites—or so Jinwoo-hyung tells him. 

He scrutinizes at one glass bottle in his hands, holding it carefully. Sometimes he wonders why he prefers animal blood rather than human or faerie blood, which is a common diet for vampires like him— 

  


“Why do you choose to drink animal blood rather than human blood?” someone asked him. “Or even faerie blood?”  
“Vegetarian diet?” Seungyoon joked lightly. “No—it’s just that I’m kind of uncomfortable drinking human blood after meeting some nice humans before. And faerie blood—nah, can’t really drink it. For some reason, I always see Jinwoo-hyung’s face every time I almost try drinking one.”  
His companion laughed. “Even synthetic faerie blood?”  
Seungyoon’s nose wrinkled. “I’d rather hunt a pack of hyenas than even try that. It smelled nasty. Even Seunghoon-hyung says he’d rather inhale water than have that ‘pitiful excuse of a substitute.’”  
After a moment of silence his companion said, “You said something about meeting those nice humans, Yoon. Well, there are…but don’t you think—”  
“That there are bad humans as well?” Seungyoon finished. “I know that. And I can’t stomach the thought of having those…scum blood running through my veins. I’d rather starve.”  
His companion cracked a smile. “You’re such a picky eater for a vegetarian vampire, Yoon.”

  


—yes, his memories return that way, like a sudden gust of wind blowing to his direction. 

They enter his mind randomly, so sudden that sometimes they make Seungyoon pause in the middle of his work. Sometimes he shares them to Jinwoo-hyung and Seunghoon-hyung—how his Jinwoo-hyung had taught him how to fish and steer a ship, how his Seunghoon-hyung always accompanied him in hunting trips and in his past sojourns to Busan—and his hyungs will gladly tell more for him. 

Seungyoon can tell they’re overjoyed at this progress, yet they do not pressure him to remember any more. He’s glad about it, of course, yet he wants to know more. Understand more, especially why he ended up suspended in the air— 

His thoughts are momentarily interrupted by the arrival of one of his aides, providing him the books he needed. 

  


* * *

  


  
Later at night, he takes a stroll around the Palace, savoring the cool evening air. The full moon is high up in the sky, illuminating the lovely garden. 

Seungyoon pauses to gaze at the garden, mesmerized at the sight. The blue roses seem to glow under the moonlight, dew drops sparkling on its petals. 

It never ceases to amaze him that the Royal Palace managed to actually grow a large blue rose garden; after all, blue roses are supposed to be artificial flowers. Yet here they bloom in numbers, so beautiful and magical. 

“Magnificent, aren’t they?” he hears someone speak from behind, and he turns. 

“Y-Your Highness!” Seungyoon stutters in surprise, seeing Minho standing behind him. “Forgive me, I haven’t noticed your presence.” 

“It’s okay,” Minho reassures him, smiling. “Do you like this garden, Lord Kang?” 

“They’re lovely, Your Highness,” Seungyoon remarks softly in awe. “It’s astounding that such flowers bloom in abundance here. How did you do it?” 

Minho stares at him with an unreadable expression, his eyes tightening slightly. With a soft sigh Minho answers, “A dear friend actually did this—some sort of an experiment of his,” he chuckles. “It took a few hits and misses before he perfected it, though.” 

  


_—a pinch, or two, a breath caught in his throat—_

  


“But why blue roses?”

A sad, rueful expression flits across Minho’s profile. “He told me that flowers, somehow, reminded him of me.”

  


_—there’s a fissure crawling somewhere deep, where forgotten emotions burst forth—_

  


“He has a good eye for flowers and for people, I see,” Seungyoon comments.

Minho regards him with somber eyes. “Yes, he does,” he agrees.

  


_—a ghost of a heartbreak flits close, so close; a forgotten shard piercing itself deeper—_

  


After a moment Minho says, “Why don’t we sit down on one of the benches, Lord Kang?”

Seungyoon stares at him in surprise and a little hint of skepticism. “Would it be all right, Your Highness?”

Minho grins. “You’ll be my guest here.”

The two men then proceed to sit at one of the marble benches in the middle of the garden. Seungyoon’s nostrils are suddenly assaulted by the roses’ scent—a scent similar to that of aster’s, but with a hint of coolness likened to that of a foggy forest’s.

“I know, it does smell pretty odd,” Minho says, seeing the expression on Seungyoon’s face. “Yet for some reason, the scent calms me down.”

An awkward silence passes between them, the air blowing between them softly.

“How are the reports going?” Minho asks, his eyes gazing up on the moon, attempting a conversation.

“Going well,” Seungyoon replies, a little timidly. He isn’t yet used with the royal vampire’s presence, let alone on a place with him. “I’m glad that the other Houses are starting to cooperate, and everything’s starting to go smoothly.”

Minho hums. “Is Seunghoon—I mean, is Minister Lee all right? I heard he’s somewhere south of Jeolla province.”

“Ah, he’s doing fine. He’s mostly doing emissary work now, as the skirmishes have decreased sharply.”

Another moment of silence envelopes them before Minho speaks once more. “How about you, Lord Kang?”

Something at how Minho stared at him with those deep eyes made Seungyoon feel something else, as if he’s having a déjà vu. While Jinwoo-hyung and Seunghoon-hyung don’t disclose much about Minho, it seemed as if he knew him for a long time, like they’ve shared something before—

  


_—a ghost of a heartbreak flits close, so close; a forgotten shard piercing itself deeper—_

  


“Getting…better,” Seungyoon answers instead, his eyes downcast as he plays with the rose’s petals. “You can say I’m getting all my faculties back in shape.”

“That’s good to hear,” Minho sighs in relief. “How about your bruises? You had quite a lot when I saw you back then.”

  


_—a flutter like a butterfly’s wings, yet more cracks branch further, further—_

  


“Almost gone,” Seungyoon tells him. “The doctor recommends that I try drinking faerie blood and honey to speed up the healing process, but I don’t want to.”

_Why do I speak so freely like this? As if I know him, as if he knows me, as if I—_

Minho lets out a little laugh. “You still prefer animal blood than human or faerie blood, I see.”

  


The memory that flashed back to him earlier, when he’d stared at his bottle. That companion—slowly, Seungyoon can remember his face, his voice getting clearer—

  


“Forgive me for asking this, Your Highness,” Seungyoon finds himself saying. “But how do you know I drink animal blood?”

  


**

  


_Ah._

He’d slipped.

In the height of his emotions, with Seungyoon close to him by his side, he’d said something careless again.

Seungyoon stares at him expectantly, his dark ruby orbs glowing in the moonlight. Too beautiful, Minho thinks. Too ethereal, too good to be even real—

“You’d mentioned it to me in passing before,” Minho says. A half-lie. “When we once worked together.”

Seungyoon’s eyebrows knit in confusion. “We’ve worked together?” he echoes.

Did he slip again? Ugh, how many more wrong words are going to slip out of his own mouth?

“You once worked with me as a main strategist,” Minho says slowly. “And as a grand commander. Jinwoo—I mean, Minister Kim didn’t mention it to you yet?”

_How many more secrets have those two kept hidden from Seungyoon?_ Minho wonders.

“Ah—right, Jinwoo-hyung told me that,” Seungyoon nods, understanding dawning in his face. Ah, thank goodness he hadn’t slipped this time. “It was stupid of me not to think that I hadn’t been able to work with you when I’d previously held such positions.”

Minho smiles. “It’s fine.”

_So he still doesn’t remember much. It’s good then._

_It’s not good—_

“Does that also explain why you seem to know me well, Your Highness?” Seungyoon asks, curious.

Minho ignores the lump in his throat. “Well, yes,” he answers, and he hopes Seungyoon doesn’t hear the regret and pain in his voice.

“…does this also mean…” Seungyoon starts uneasily, then pauses. His fingers fumble with the hem of his sleeves, and Minho is tempted to touch them with his own. Hold his hand with his own.

“Yes?” Minho prompts when Seungyoon doesn’t speak after a long while.

“…by any chance,” Seungyoon mumbles, still looking down. Honestly, how adorable—

“Have we been friends, Your Highness?”

Minho pauses. _Friends?_

A bittersweet smile curls up in Minho’s lips. “You can say that.”

_Friends, huh._

Seungyoon nods to himself, contemplative. Minho looks up at the starless sky, fighting the nightmares and his sins starting to crawl on his mind.

“I still don’t remember much, Your Highness,” Seungyoon murmurs, “yet maybe in time, I will. I’m sorry if…I don’t remember, though.”

Minho bites his lip. _It’s okay,_ he wants to say. _Take your time. I won’t rush._

_It’s better if you do._

_It’s better if you don’t._

_Yet I pray, that in time—_

“Don’t stress yourself too much about it,” Minho tells him instead. “It’s all right, really—it’s for your own good, anyway.”

“And oh,” he adds, looking at Seungyoon, “I’d appreciate it if you’d just call me Minho if it’s just us, Lord Kang.”

Seungyoon blinks, then a warm smile illuminates his face. So beautiful. “Well…I guess it would be a good idea if you’d just call me Seungyoon then, M-Minho.”

_—if you remember my sins, you will forgive me._  
  


* * *

  


  
A messenger scrambles through the Royal House’s receiving hall, slightly disrupting the people present inside. A guard quickly blocks him from entering further, yet the messenger begs repeatedly, “Please—let me speak to His Highness—or to Lord Kang! Please!!”

“What is it?” Minho quickly rushes in, Jiwon, Jinwoo and Seungyoon right behind him. They were discussing some plans that Seungyoon fabricated in Minho’s study when they heard the commotion from outside.

“Your Highness!” the messenger falls to his knees. “Minister Lee—his men—ambushed—”

Seungyoon recognizes the messenger—they are one of Seunghoon’s trusted men, Jinhyuk. Alarmed, Seungyoon briskly approaches him and lowers himself. “Jinhyuk-ssi, breathe, and tell us what happened.”

At that, Jinhyuk does as he’s told, and narrates, “My Lord, a few days after Minister Lee amicably settled some affairs with some of the Houses in Jeolla and left to return here, they were ambushed by several bandits from the East. The Minister’s men were skilled, yet they were badly outnumbered. They are now in hiding somewhere, unable to get through.”

Gasps echo throughout the hall, then Minho quickly kneels beside Seungyoon. “Are they hurt?” he asks tensely, eyes glittering red at the news.

“I believe they are, Your Highness,” Jinhyuk replies, sounding desolate. “Minister Lee is—is badly wounded.”

Fury and worry fill Seungyoon’s heart, snarls bubbling in his chest. His fingers tingle for a fight, adrenaline starting to pump through his veins. Yet with all the calmness he can muster he asks, “Where is Seunghoon-hyung?”

“In a forest close to Jeolla’s border,” Jinhyuk tells him. “I would like to lead you there, but—it’s too dangerous. We must enter through another route that is not surrounded by those bandits.”

“What are those bandits, anyway?”

“Pure shifters from the East, Lord Kang.”

Seungyoon’s jaw tightens, and he hears Jinwoo hiss from a distance. This is quite a problem. 

“Send reinforcements immediately,” Minho orders, rising up and looking at Jiwon. “Prepare the weapons needed.”

“Understood,” Jiwon nods and proceeds to do his bidding.

“I know Jeolla like the back of my hand,” Jinwoo says, a hint of menace and anger in his usually calm tone. “It’ll be easy if you’ll let me come, Your Highness.”

“I’ll come as well,” Seungyoon declares, and Minho and Jinwoo turn towards him in surprise.

“Seungyoon—” they start to protest, yet Seungyoon shoots them both with a glare.

“I’m fine,” he stresses, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. “Also, I’m an able fighter. Seunghoon-hyung taught me.”

Jinwoo stares at him in consternation and says, “I know that, Seungyoon. But Seunghoon isn’t a pure shifter—”

Seungyoon smirks. “I know shifters are good at dodging blades, hyung,” he interrupts. “Yet they’re not so good with bullets and bows, right?”

Jinwoo sighs, exasperated. “Ah, fine. Really, what is it with you and Gyeongsang men that you get so fired up with the thought of fighting?”

Seungyoon grins, and Jinwoo (and Minho, even) notice the odd sparkle in his dark red eyes. “We’re all raised to fight,” he says. “And to enjoy one.”  
  


* * *

  


  
Seunghoon crouches lower to the ground, trying to catch any more sound from the bandits that ambushed them. It’d been hours since they sunk into hiding and sent Jinhyuk to the Royal Palace, yet still, no reinforcements have arrived.

_Did he arrive there safely? Was he caught by the bandits on his way? Was he—?_

_‘Some of us have recovered now, Lord Seunghoon,’_ Taeil tells him through telepathy, creeping towards his side. _‘Perhaps we can attack them from behind?’_

_‘Not a good idea, though,’_ Seunghoon mutters, fighting back an annoyed growl. _‘We are still badly outnumbered. We’ll suffer more if we do. Besides—’_

A sudden pang of pain shoots through Seunghoon’s body as he accidentally twists his body, reminding him of his broken leg.

He bites back a growl, and Taeil quickly rushes to his side, a paw against his injured leg. _‘Lord Seunghoon!’_

_‘I’m good, I’m good—ugh, it’s still healing,’_ Seunghoon mutters. 

_Please, come here soon._

  


**

  


The shifters around Seunghoon suddenly become agitated, hisses and muted growls echoing within the small space in the darkest part of the forest.

_The bandits,_ Seunghoon realizes. The bandits have tracked them somehow. Even though all of them have opted to shift into black panthers to blend in with the dark and be able to communicate through mental links. Even though the half-faeries with them managed to block their scent with their distractive spells.

_Those mutts have some nice sense of smell,_ Seunghoon thinks dryly.

_‘Prepare yourselves,’_ Seunghoon orders, standing up despite the soreness in his leg. _‘Attack them when I order you.’_

His men rise up as well, forming a circle.

It only takes a couple of seconds before Seunghoon spots one of the bandits—a grey wolf—lunging towards them, about to pounce on Seunghoon—

—an arrow pierces through the wolf’s throat, the animal yelping in pain then dropping to the ground.

_What—!?_

More arrows rain towards the wolves, and they all fall down limply, chokes and gurgles coming from their mouths.

Seunghoon’s ears catch the sound of feet perching against a thick tree branch, and his nose catches familiar scent in the air.

The cool, painfully sweet scent of vampires, honey and jasmine—a faerie?—and even more familiar scents—

Silk and metal. 

Vanilla and honeysuckle.

Jasmine and sea breeze—

“They’re quite a number, all right,” he hears Jinwoo’s voice from behind, sounding menacing and dangerous. “Mutts are still mutts, indeed.”

“Hyung, don’t speak badly of dogs,” Seungyoon says, a little defensively. “Not all of them are barbaric, you know.”

Jinwoo snorts.

Seunghoon turns his head—and there they are.

Jinwoo is alighted on a thick tree branch, his deer eyes glinting red, a sword in hand. Seungyoon is on a branch atop him, holding a silver bow, a bagful of arrows slung on his back.

As if sensing his surprised stare, Jinwoo meets his eyes, his vicious glare melting into a sweet smile. “Ah, there you are, Seunghoon,” he says. “You good?”

Seunghoon frowns up at him, hoping that Jinwoo would get the message.

_More like I feel shit, hyung._

“We brought a few healers from my House, don’t worry,” Jinwoo tells him. “But,” a growl rumbles from his chest as his gaze turns towards the dumbfounded bandits from a distance, “we’ll deal with this disgusting dogs first.”

“Eh? Where’s Hoony-hyung?” Seungyoon asks Jinwoo, his eyes searching for Seunghoon below. “They all look alike, I can’t see hyung…”

Seunghoon lets out a chuckle despite himself and Seungyoon catches the sound. It takes a short second before Seungyoon recognizes him, and he shoots the panther a bright smile and a wave.

_‘Minister Lee,’_ Taeil gasps, shock and recognition clear on his mind—and of the other men with him, Seunghoon notes—as he stares at Seungyoon. _‘By any chance—is that—is that—!!’_

_‘Yeah, that’s him,’_ Seunghoon tells him. _‘Alive and well.’_

The panthers around him rumble and snarl, something akin to joy and relief emanating from them. Seunghoon knows it’s not just because the reinforcements have finally arrived—and the strongest reinforcements, at that.

Seungyoon then turns towards the men behind him—the Royal Army, Seunghoon realizes—and orders, “Shower them with your arrows, and don’t let any of those Eastern shifters escape.”

The Royal Army nodded, and with a grunt, they speed through the trees as they shoot arrows mercilessly towards the remaining wolves, scattered and dumbfounded. Yelps, howls, and broken gasps echo in the air as the wolves fall to the ground, the poison from the arrows’ tips spreading hot and fast.

Meanwhile, Jinwoo jumps down from the branch, along with a few of his aides, and starts healing the injured panthers. Some of the Royal Army members remain close, looking out for any wolf that may attack them all of a sudden.

_‘Jinwoo-hyung,’_ Seunghoon breathes as Jinwoo firmly massages his sore leg with medicated honey. He wants to close his eyes and rest, to let his body fall slack for a while—

—but he is terrified. Terrified that if he closes his eyes, he may never see Jinwoo again—

“Go sleep, Seunghoon,” Jinwoo whispers, smoothing his fur. A reassuring smile is on his ethereal face, eyes warm and sweet. “We’ll deal with this.”

Seunghoon does as he’s told.

  


**

  


Surprisingly (or not so surprisingly), all the fighting tricks he’d learned even from way before he was imprisoned flowed naturally into Seungyoon’s mind then to his body, his attacks fluid and efficient. He’d initially thought that fighting against pure shifters would be quite a task for him, considering that he hadn’t been fighting or training his body for a long time.

Seungyoon lets the Royal Army rain arrows towards the shifters, only delivering final blows with a swift kick or with a swipe of his sword.

In a matter of minutes all the Eastern shifters have fallen, and Seungyoon didn’t even use much effort. Even the Royal Army with him didn’t seem tired.

Just as when he is about to command the men to go back, a loud voice boomed throughout the forest.

“Useless rascals!” the said voice explodes angrily. “You could not even take a small pride of panthers down?!”

Seungyoon stills, the rough accent sounding familiar to him.

With a hand gesture he commands his men to leap higher up and keep themselves unnoticed from above the treetops.

He hears heavy footsteps approaching them—Seungyoon deduces, from the scent and aura emanating from them, they were mixed breeds. A powerful group, at that.

It doesn’t take a long moment before they show up—and Seungyoon’s right. They are mixed breeds from the East. Half vampire and half shifter, judging from the scent.

“Hah—they sent the Royal Army!” the man in front huffs, his face darkening as he sees the silver arrows. Basing from the elegant clothes and the crest he wears, he seems to be the leader.

“My Lord,” one of his companions gasp, inspecting the arrow pierced through a wolf’s throat, “they have dipped the arrows with a potent poison!”

“Che!” the leader dismisses, snorting. “Pure shifters have developed immunity against the strongest of poisons over time, no way that these shifters would be dead—”

“But, my lord,” the said companion whispers, sounding as if he was struck with something, “he’s dead. All of these wolves are dead.”

Seungyoon bites back a smile. So it worked.

“WHAT?!” the leader roars in shock, shoving the companion away and inspecting the arrow himself. He takes a whiff of the poison’s odor, and he blanches.

“This can’t be—can’t be!!” he exclaims in astonishment. “I thought we perfected it—that antidote is supposed to work well against all the poisons the Royal House of Song concocted!!”

This piques Seungyoon’s interest a little. He listens on.

“My Lord, could it be that the Royal House has developed another poison?” another man asks. “Years have passed, anyway. And—”

“Nonsense!” the leader disagrees. “There’s no way the Royal House of Song can do it. Even if they still remained strong, they cannot create any more poisons, for their main strategist is long dead!”

Main strategist? They do not mean Seungyoon—

“If he’s dead,” a man stutters, spooked, “who is that vampire in blue robes?”

—do they?

All of the Eastern men look up, and there they see the said main strategist, smiling innocently, perched high up on a tree.

“It’s not too late to create new ones, you know,” Seungyoon informs them, still smiling. “I’ve had a lot of free time, anyway.”

“Kang Seungyoon,” the leader hisses, realizing who he is. “So the rumors are true, then.”

“What rumors?” Seungyoon hums, tilting his head a little. “That I’m alive?”

“Tch,” the leader spits. “How impressive—the Royal House of Song indeed forgives sinners, no matter how grave their errors were.”

“How grave is grave?” Seungyoon inquires, his tone playful. “I don’t remember killing anyone in the Royal House.”

The leader stares at him, uncomprehending his words, until he bursts into a howl of laughter. Loud, boisterous laughter tinged with disbelief and dark humor.

Seungyoon still keeps his light-hearted expression, though.

_I must’ve committed a grave sin, all right._

“Ah…what a, a, a— _unique_ sinner you are, Kang Seungyoon!” the leader manages to exclaim between peals of laughter, jabbing his finger. “As expected of a trained killing machine like you!”

“Please don’t talk as if I’m a barbarian,” Seungyoon sighs, as like a petulant child. “I know when to clean my mess up at least—unlike you.”

At his words, a vein popped at the leader’s head, and he growls, “You dare say that when you’re nothing more than me, you fiend? To have the guts to actually return _and_ still defend the Royal House like you’ve never done anything wrong—how shameless!”

“That’s quite impressive, coming from a defector like you,” Seungyoon muses.

His words did it.

The leader roars, “Kill the fucking Royal Army—and offer me that traitor’s fucking head!!”

A clash of arrows and blades took over, along with the melody of death as their feet dance to violence’s rhythm. Although the Royal Army are pretty outnumbered by the Eastern shifters, the former’s skills are unmatched—an unfair advantage, indeed.

Seungyoon leaps down to the ground and unsheathes his favorite sword. He then joins the bloody fray, swinging his sword and slicing his enemies’ flesh.

At the corner of his eye, he spots the leader sneaking away, retreating somewhere. Not one to miss a chance, Seungyoon steps away and follows the leader quietly, not making a sound.

While the leader’s steps were loud and hurried, Seungyoon’s are silent and calculated, his feet almost flying as he skips towards the tree branches.

And then—Seungyoon stops. 

And holds his breath.

  


**

  


The leader has sensed that someone was following him, although he can’t be sure if it was true. But he’s alone now, isn’t he, a good distance away from the Royal Army—and a few more walks and he can escape with the boat he left in the river dock—

“Tell me something,” a ghostly whisper hums, sending a chill of fright snaking down his spine. “Why did you call me a traitor?”

The leader looks around frantically, face paling and cold sweat trickling down his skin. “S-Show yourself, y-y-you coward!!” he cries out in empty air, gripping his sword firmly. “And fight me!”

“Why do you call me a traitor?” Voice so soft, so sweet—so deceivingly sweet.

And… _curious_?

“I-I-Isn’t what they all call you?” the leader answers, turning and looking around for any sign of him. “Why else would you end up hanging in that so-called glass cage, anyway?!”

“Hmm…how odd. And—humor me. I killed someone in the Royal House?”

“Why the fuck do you even care, anyway!? Show yourself up, you bastard!”

“Who did I kill in the Royal House?”

The leader refuses to answer this time, focusing harder on locating where _Kang Seungyoon_ is hiding.

_That fucking sneak, going back to his assassinating ways?_

“Who did I kill in the Royal House?” Kang Seungyoon echoes once more, demandingly this time.

“The Royal House’s matriarch, goddamn it!!” the leader exclaims in frustration, eyes now flaring red. “Didn’t you kill her, Kang!? And yet you still have the gall to fucking serve the Royal House—shameless bastard!”

Silence. Cold and tense.

A long moment passes, and the leader thinks Seungyoon’s gone already. Or just shell-shocked.

  


_—or maybe, just maybe, he forgot his memories? rumor has it that those encaged in that glass prison either went mad, died, or forgot everything, even their name._

_so maybe it was true. **ha!** this is such a perfect information to leak, to finally, **finally** overthrow the royal house of song—_

  


“Thank you very much, good sir. Have a good night,” Kang Seungyoon says from behind.

Then—

—he feels light. Really light, as if he was flying up into the sky. No—twirling up, spiraling upwards. But then he realizes, as he catches the glint of a familiar sword, dripping with blood, he isn’t flying.

It’s him. Or more precisely, his _head_ flying upward—

—and it hurts, it hurts, it fucking hurts, it goddamn motherfucking hurts curse you to hell Kang Seungyoon why AREN’T YOU DEAD YET!!!!!!!! —

—the last thing he sees is Kang Seungyoon’s blank red eyes staring at him before he plunges into the darkness.

  


**

  


Seungyoon stares vacantly at the head rolling down the riverbank, leaving a trail of blood on its wake. He doesn’t even notice the fountain of blood spurting from the leader’s severed neck, or some drops of it staining his pristine robes.

_Huh._

He stares at his own hands, cold and white under the dim moonlight. He’s aware he’d killed a lot of immortals, regardless of races, long ago—not as a House Head or a Minister or Commander. 

An assassin, he’d remembered faintly. One of the hidden swords serving the Royal House.

Until he’d decided to stop, the bloody, ruthless life tiring him physically and mentally. Until he’d decided to be a scholar within the Palace instead, doing interpretations and plans and blueprints. Until he’d decided to take over the House Kang and move back to Busan—only to return to the capital city when the wars struck.

_Huh._

_Did these hands,_ Seungyoon wonders, _really hold a blade once more—to kill House Song’s matriarch?_

He can’t remember, though. He remembers all his victims, all their corpses and shocked, dead faces. He remembers how he ended their lives with strings or swords or with his own hands.

He remembers because he dreamt about them, still dreams about them, screaming his name, asking why he wasn’t dead yet.

But House Song’s _matriarch_?

The very woman who, somehow, adopted him and loved him as if he was her own son, teaching him the difference among poisons and feeding him lettuce wraps and guiding him in cracking ciphers—

“Lord Kang!” one of the Royal men calls from a distance. “We’re done here now. We found nothing much about them, though.”

Seungyoon takes a deep breath, clearing his mind, then turns and says, “All right. We’ll head back towards Minister Kim and see if they learned anything.”

“Understood.”

Seungyoon glances once more at the leader’s head—his eyes still wide with horrified disbelief, a hint of anger in his red-yellow orbs—then turns on his heel.

_Maybe…maybe it’s the reason why God never heard my pleas for freedom back then?_

He pauses.

_But…why was I pleading for freedom in the first place when I killed an innocent soul?_  
  


* * *

  


  
Several of the Royal Guards dragged a weak, still-shocked Seungyoon towards the Head’s chambers, forcing him to move. There were chains wrapped around his body, made of jade and cursed alloy to restrain his powers. Heavy shackles were locked on his neck and wrists, like a prisoner. 

Seungyoon did not understand what was going on. He only remembered lying down on his bed to recover from his wounds after returning from a skirmish in a nearby town, then the next thing he knew he was pinned down by several burly faeries to the ground and forcefully chained and shackled. 

Then this, being hauled towards the Royal Palace, with no one explaining to him why he was bound heavily. 

The guards then heavily put him down, his head hitting the marble floors. Blood trickled out from the small gash on his temple, but Seungyoon didn’t care. 

He wanted to know why he was sent here like this, wounded and bloodied—right in front of his Master. 

The interim Head of the Royal House of Song, Song Minho. 

“Why…?” he whispered brokenly to no one in particular. 

“Quit playing fucking innocent, Kang!” one of the ministers spat. “You committed horrendous sins against the Royal House, and yet you act as if nothing happened!” 

Seungyoon struggled to sit straighter, then glanced at the minister. “Sins?” he echoed weakly. He doesn’t remember doing them. He only followed orders, right—? 

The minister’s face crumpled with disgust and anger, and opened his mouth to say something. 

However, Chief Aide Jiwon’s voice interrupted him. “Lord Kang, you are sent here to receive your punishment.” 

Seungyoon froze. His heart stopped. 

**Punishment?**

**For what?**

His head whirled dizzily, trying to make sense of what was happening. 

He looked up, confused and desolate, murmuring, “Punishment?” 

Chief Aide Jiwon’s face was a mix of confusion, pain, anger and—Seungyoon’s heart sank—disappointment. “Yes.” 

It felt as if someone had punched him hard in the stomach. “What have I done?” Seungyoon asked, trying to keep his voice steady. 

The Chief Aide opened a scroll, then read out loud, “…for committing treason and disobedience to the Royal House, as well as for assassinating Lady Song—you are sentenced heavily, Kang Seungyoon.” 

It took a moment before the words sunk in. 

“What **treason**?! What **disobedience**?!!” Seungyoon exclaimed in indignation, rising up from the floor. “You know I will never do that—and **never** have I touched that blade that killed Lady Song! **Never!** ” 

“Silence, Kang!” another minister snarled at him. “Know your place!” 

Growls bubbled from Seungyoon’s chest as he struggled with the shackles. “I didn’t kill her—how am I supposed to fucking kill her when I was trapped in Jeju?!!” 

“Silence!” There was a crack of a whip, hitting Seungyoon’s back. He let out a howl in pain, glaring blackly at the guard who dared to do so. 

“Chief Aide Jiwon, I ask for further investigation,” Seungyoon pleaded, ignoring the hellish pain in his body. “You know of my whereabouts, you know that it is simply impossible that I would end her life in cold blood!” 

Chief Aide Jiwon’s face was expressionless as he said, “The evidences were concrete and clear.” 

Seungyoon stilled. “What evidences?” 

“The blade has your inscription, as well as your handprint,” Jiwon explained. “And the method—isn’t it exactly how you do it, Lord Kang?” 

Seungyoon was more than aghast at this point. He’d seen the scene of the crime for himself, of course—and yes, everything, everything was just the same, **exactly** the same . . . yet it missed one element to fully prove it was his doing— 

“I never did that!” Seungyoon stressed, more desperate than angry. His heart thudded painfully against his chest, hoping that all these were just a nightmare. “Why would I kill her—why would I even dare raise a blade—!?” 

“Enough!” a deep voice roared sharply.

Seungyoon’s heart shattered as he gazed up at him. So he—even him—even **Minho** — 

“I know you very well, Seungyoon,” Minho said gravely, anger and pain in his voice. “And I know exactly how you kill.” 

Seungyoon wanted to protest. He wanted to defend himself more—that there was no way he did it, there was no way he would deceive anyone, that there was no way he would hurt anyone. 

That there was no way, absolutely **no way** , that he would dare hurt Minho. 

However, the look of grave accusation in his dark eyes, his ire and distress etched on his handsome face—Seungyoon felt weak. So weak. As if his own soul had deserted him and went straight to hell. 

**Even Minho, even him…he believed all those lies?**

Something warm and hazy blurred his eyes, spilling down on his face.

“You don’t, Minho,” Seungyoon whispered, anguished at his own fate. “You don’t." 

A flicker of an emotion flitted across Minho’s face, but it disappeared too quickly as he declared, “Kang Seungyoon, Head of House Kang, Grand Commander of the Royal Army…you are sentenced to be imprisoned in the Ice Glass for eternity.” 

**Ice…Glass?**

Seungyoon’s mind was blank. He couldn’t understand anything anymore. He felt…empty. 

He had nothing more in him to protest, to try breaking free from his chains and explain further. He didn’t even have a soul to glare at the guards who hauled him up to be imprisoned at that cage. 

Minho’s dark, cold look at him earlier was enough—and the heartbreak over the realization that Minho, even Minho, saw him now as a killer. 

**Is this…what dying feels like…**

  


**

  


Seungyoon rises up sharply from the bed, gasping heavily. His heart is thundering against his chest, pain racking through his body as the images from his nightmare replay once more in his mind.

The hasty judgment, the scorns from the ministers present and his eventual imprisonment—was it really just a nightmare? Or a memory resurfacing?

He bites his lower lip as he remembers another accusation thrown at him. Killing Lady Song—the House Song’s matriarch…

He remembers the words the leader uttered to him back at the forest, remembers all his firm allegations. 

He remembers how the Chief Aide Jiwon had gazed at him in disappointment, how Minho glared at him blackly…

His room’s door suddenly opens, and Seungyoon jerks up in shock.

“Seungyoon?” A familiar voice calls, and a chill runs down Seungyoon’s spine.

Minho is holding a candle as he stands outside, worry in his face. He’s dressed in his sleeping robes; Seungyoon assumes he’d woken him up somehow.

Seungyoon backs away, leaning closer to the wall.

“Seungyoon,” Minho murmurs softly, “It’s just me.”

_Yeah, I know,_ Seungyoon mutters in his head, Minho’s furious glare in his nightmare still haunting him.

Minho interprets Seungyoon’s apprehension as fear and embarrassment, so he keeps his distance away. Something that Seungyoon is grateful for right now.

The air around them thickens with awkwardness and trepidation, and Seungyoon knows one of them must dissipate it soon. But he cannot find the words to say, not especially when that nightmare—or memory long forgotten—had stunned his soul greatly.

“W-Well, I’ll call Jinwoo-hyung for you,” Minho finally says, as if thinking that his very presence there wasn’t helping to calm Seungyoon’s nerves. 

And he isn’t, if Seungyoon has to be honest. 

“He’s been worried for you ever since you guys came back, anyway,” Minho adds.

“O-okay,” Seungyoon mumbles, looking down. His heart throbs so much, his eyes sting with pain. With guilt. With confusion.

With agony he isn’t sure if he brought upon himself—an agony he’s not sure if he’s supposed to even feel.

Minho closes the door quietly, leaving the candle to stand on the nearest table.

At least Seungyoon will not be drowned in darkness once more.  
  


* * *

  


  
Needless to say, Jinwoo is unable to know behind Seungyoon’s distress, or what his nightmare was about. If anything, the younger immortal just clutched on Jinwoo’s robes, as if afraid to let him go, his youthful face pale as he slept once more.

Even Jinwoo’s calm presence alone doesn’t even seem to be soothing Seungyoon.

In the next few days that followed, Seungyoon became even more quiet, his eyes unfocused most of the time. Seunghoon deduced it was probably because Seungyoon wasn’t used to actual combat yet, not after his imprisonment—or probably after he retired from the assassinating business. Jinwoo, however, refuted with this, telling the shifter that it was probably his nightmare.

In the end, no one knew what exactly was troubling Seungyoon. Yet they never asked, they never pushed for any details.

They knew that Seungyoon will just tell them himself; if they inquired further, Seungyoon will only distance himself further.

It was something that never changed at all, even after all these years.  
  


* * *

  


  
While everyone is busy within the Royal Palace, Seungyoon buries himself with piles and piles of parchment within the deepest recesses of the Royal Library, reading every single line carefully.

He’s reading all reports regarding his imprisonment, as well as the death of the Royal House of Song’s matriarch. They were all reported in a concise, brief manner—but just enough for Seungyoon to understand what had happened.

_So the matriarch’s murder case made it to the records despite the stain it left,_ Seungyoon muses, taking note of all details entailed in that matter. _Every judgment, every evidence, every decision…_

His fingers gently trace the ink which spelled his name, his eyes reading the sentence that caught his attention.

  


፠ Kang Seungyoon, Head of House Kang, the Royal House of Song’s main strategist and Grand Commander, sentenced to eternal imprisonment in the Ice Glass, as decreed by His Highness, Song Minho. ፠

  


He smiles bitterly. The nightmare wasn’t a nightmare after all; it was a memory long faded in his mind.

Just like all the memories that he lost, slowly coming back to him.

Or haunting him, even.

Just then, he senses another presence within the room—or rather, the presence starting to make itself known. He’d detected this earlier the moment he entered, yet it never made a move at all.

Seungyoon’s fingers curl around the hilt of his dagger, his eyes now flaring a brighter shade of red.

“Who is it?” he asks calmly.

“Nothing to fear of, nor be wary of,” a wheezy, yet deep voice answers, and Seungyoon pauses.

If his memory still serves him right, this voice belonged to—

“S-Senior Lee?” Seungyoon whispers, looking around. “Is that you?”

He hears a hearty chuckle—a chuckle Seungyoon knows too well. “As expected of my best student,” the voice compliments.

Seungyoon gasps as he approaches him, all smiles and warmth in his wizened face.

“Seungyoon,” Senior Lee greets, nodding. “We meet again.”

“S-Teacher,” Seungyoon chokes, bowing back. “Y-you’re here? B-but—”

Senior Lee tilts his head a little, still smiling. “But?” he prompts.

It takes a short moment before Seungyoon mumbles, “T-they said you’re dead now, Senior Lee. Back when I was still…still…”

Seungyoon feels faint warmth on his shoulder, and his eyes immediately dart to it. He stills, realizing it is Senior Lee’s hand—but it is so faint. Like that of a ghost’s—

“I am, child,” Senior Lee confirms for him quietly. “It’s such a shame the earth took me back before I even saw you being freed, but that’s okay. At least, you’re here.”

Seungyoon looks down, his hands curling into fists. “I’m sorry, Teacher,” he whispers. “I must’ve…disappointed you greatly.”

Senior Lee says nothing; he cups Seungyoon’s face in his hands, so he can meet the younger’s gaze.

“You are never a disappointment, Kang Seungyoon,” Senior Lee tells him firmly, his gray eyes twinkling. “Have I not told you that you are one of my greatest students?”

Seungyoon nods a little, but his face remains forlorn. “But, I…”

“Seungyoon, you never committed a mistake.”

Senior Lee’s resolute words surprise Seungyoon. He knows that his teacher never meant his past days as his student—but of the present.

Or rather, of what is troubling him in the present.

“You think you’re really the one behind all these…mess you’re studying on right now, right?” Senior Lee asks gently. 

Seungyoon nods.

“And you want to know why you ended up in the Ice Glass, correct?”

Seungyoon nods once more.

Senior Lee smiles, as if expecting his answers, then he reaches down to retrieve something from under the table.

Seungyoon’s jaw drops upon seeing the thing his teacher placed on his table.

“I believe you have pretty much recovered your strength in all aspects, and your memories aren’t as fragmented as before,” Senior Lee says. “I guess it’s the right time to let you know—or maybe the universe now wants you to know?”

Seungyoon’s eyes are glued to the marble incense burner shaped like a crescent moon on his desk, still in disbelief.

“The Incense of Reminiscence, yes,” Senior Lee smiles. “You know what happens when I light it up and you fall into deep sleep, right?”

Seungyoon nods, albeit still stunned by the sudden turn of events.

“Good. Now then, lie down and close your eyes,” Senior Lee orders.

Seungyoon blinks in surprise, eyes darting up to his teacher. “But, Teacher, I—” he halts.

“What?”

“T-Teacher, I…I…” Seungyoon scrambles his thoughts for a moment. “Don’t you think it’s too…fast?”

Senior Lee frowns. “What do you mean? Don’t tell me you’re afraid now?”

Seungyoon bites his lip, unable to answer. It isn’t that he is afraid, it’s just that…he remembers his teacher’s strict words from before…

His teacher laughs. “Ah, Seungyoon, you still never change!”

Seungyoon pouts at him, helpless.

Senior Lee reaches out to ruffle his hair. “Seungyoon-ah, I understand your doubts. However, you cannot deny your curiosity about this, right?”

Seungyoon nods weakly.

“Teacher, I really do want to know,” Seungyoon confesses after a moment. “I want to understand, and I want answers. But right now…”

Senior Lee waits.

“…my soul isn’t that ready yet. You told me before—one doesn’t plunge into the deep waters recklessly, nor joins a war without a sword or a dagger. And right now…well, I don’t think I can dive deeply without drowning in the end, nor survive in a war,” Seungyoon finishes.

Senior Lee smiles fondly. “You listened well, Seungyoon-ah.”

Seungyoon smiles back, warmth filling his heart.

“All right, fine. Come back here when you’re ready,” Senior Lee concedes, putting the incense away. “I advise you’d bring someone with you, though. I don’t think my current state can protect you while you’re on a different dimension.”

“I understand,” Seungyoon nods. “But who shall I bring with me?”

Senior Lee smiles knowingly. “Anyone, of course. Best if you bring the person…who brought you into this very state.”  
  


* * *

  


  
That night, Seungyoon proceeds to Minho’s chambers, the room where he usually receives his guests. As expected, it was heavily guarded by two of the Royal Army’s men. Upon seeing Seungyoon, they bow at him, then—much to Seungyoon’s light amusement—cross their halberds, forbidding him entry.

Seungyoon bows deeply, his eyes on the floor.

“I would like to request an audience with the Head of the Royal House of Song,” he asks calmly.

Even with such polite words, the guards remain stoic. It’s something that neither surprises nor offends Seungyoon; after all, wasn’t it his own order that no one must allow entry within the chambers unless the Head says so?

After a moment a deep voice says from inside, “Let him in.”

The guards then relax, uncrossing their halberds to let Seungyoon in. The doors open, and Seungyoon takes a deep, calming breath before he steps in.

Seungyoon kneels with reverence, eyes on the rich, thick carpet spread all over the dais. He waits until Minho addresses him.

“Seungyoon? What brings you here?”

Seungyoon finally looks up, his gaze meeting Minho’s dark ruby orbs. For one moment, Seungyoon feels like he’s staring at a powerful leader, a man whom he’d once deemed as his Master.

At the same time, it feels as if he’s looking at a man he’d once thought he knew so well.

“Your Highness, I am thankful for granting me your time—”

A light chuckle interrupts Seungyoon’s words. “Hadn’t I told you to just call me ‘Minho’ when it’s just the two of us?” Minho reminds him lightly. 

Seungyoon coughs a little in embarrassment. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

Minho grins blindingly at him, his labret piercing glinting. “Sit down, Seungyoon, sit down. Refreshments?”

Seungyoon nods, straightening his posture, and then pouring a cup of blood for Minho, then for himself. Out of instinct, he sniffs the blood on his cup, wanting to know if it is human or—

“Bear blood, actually,” Minho smiles, as if he knows what Seungyoon wants to confirm. “I’d been keeping some here just in case you’d drop by.”

Seungyoon merely nods, not knowing what to say at such gesture.

They take a moment to settle down and appreciate the blood spiked with alcohol until Minho speaks once more.

“Is there something troubling you, Seungyoon?”

Seungyoon places his cup down, sighing. Earlier, he’d been trying to search words to tell him, to let Minho know of his request. All of his ideas seemed stupid; how else would he even ask Minho that?

But he had no choice. Senior Lee said so, anyway—best if he brought the very person who brought him into imprisonment.

“I’d like to…request something, Minho,” Seungyoon begins, his eyes lowered. “However, I won’t insist too much if you don’t want to.”

Minho waits.

“It’s…recently, my past memories have been returning to me in the form of dreams,” Seungyoon says. Best if he kept with the truth right now; it was how they’d worked before, anyway.

“The memories are related to my…imprisonment back at the Ice Glass,” he continues, watching the miniscule changes in Minho’s face. “The decision, the judgment…pretty much everything.”

Minho remains silent, yet his eyes are tight.

“That night, when Minister Kim and I rescued Minister Lee, I heard a few words from the bandits’ leader. He stated that I was…courageous enough to serve the Royal House once more, despite my grave sins that I’d supposedly committed. I admit, such words have troubled me greatly—which is why I decided to study the past records which concerns me…and the murder of the Royal House of Song’s matriarch.”

Minho’s fingers curl a little in his lap.

“However, in that library…I saw someone.”

“Who?” Minho prompts after a quick moment.

“Senior Lee,” Seungyoon answers. “Or rather, Senior Lee’s spirit.”

Minho gasps in surprise. 

“After a few greetings, he showed me one of the, uh, forbidden objects—the Incense of Reminiscence. He told me that I seemed ready to plunge back into the past, to see what truly happened with my own eyes. However, I declined the offer at first.”

Minho’s heartbeats thunder in his ears, yet he manages to ask, albeit calmly, “Why?”

“I simply remembered Senior Lee’s words, about using the said incense burner,” Seungyoon replies quietly. “I told him I will return if I manage to bring someone with me.”

  


**

  


Dread and nervousness crawl up in Minho’s chest, now realizing why Seungyoon is here in the first place. “And you deduce…that that someone…is me.”

Seungyoon nods. “Were you not the one who gave out the decree I be imprisoned there?”

For a moment, Minho is silent.

This is something he’d somewhat expected after Seungyoon returned—that one day, he had to face his sins all over again, to pay for everything he’d done. That one day, he’d had to explain.

That one day, he’d had to bear with the repercussions of his hasty, stupid judgment.

For a moment, Minho cannot find the words to say.

“I’m not going to force you to come with me,” Seungyoon says, seeing the distress in Minho’s face. “I will just ask someone to join me within the Royal Library if you don’t want to.”

“Have you told…Seunghoon-hyung and Jinwoo-hyung about this?”

Seungyoon shakes his head, smiling wryly. “Seunghoon-hyung will be against it, anyway.”

Minho lets out a snort. Not that he blames Seunghoon’s over-protectiveness.

The royal vampire then takes a deep breath. “I’ll come with you,” he finally says, his gaze firm on Seungyoon. “Whenever you want to go.”

Seungyoon’s eyes light up in delight, a smile ghosting in his features. For a short second, Minho’s heart skips in joy—only for it to plunge deep down in his stomach a beat later.

“Thank you very much, Minho,” Seungyoon bows in gratitude. “I plan to go tomorrow afternoon. Is that all right?”

Minho nods, trying to keep a smile on his face. “Of course.”

Seungyoon then rises up from the floor, does a salute, then pauses. His face tightens a little, and says softly, “Before I leave, can I ask a question?”

Minho nods tersely. “Ask ahead.”

“I was somewhat expecting that you would decline me, Minho, seeing your expressions earlier,” Seungyoon murmurs. “Why did you agree, anyway?”

He knows what Seungyoon meant.

Unlike Seungyoon, Minho cannot really hide his emotions well, so his face was pretty much an open book to anyone who knew him well. And Seungyoon—considering that he’d known him for so long, after all those years of working together—has read him well. 

Perfectly well, despite the amnesia still lingering on him, like a thick fog yet to dissipate.

“I’ve had enough of deluding myself, of running away from my dues,” Minho confesses softly. “I know that after all these, there is a chance you’ll step further away from me.”

Seungyoon’s eyes widen at his words.

“I’ll say this now, Seungyoon—I will not ask for forgiveness for everything I’ve done. I can’t turn back time, I can’t undo everything.”

“But…” Minho whispers, “I want to make it up to you anyway. It will not repair anything, I know—but what else is there for me to prove my contrition?”

“You think that coming with me is one way for you to do that,” Seungyoon concludes.

Minho nods, watching the frost creep up in Seungyoon’s eyes.

“I’ll see you in the Library’s entrance,” Seungyoon mutters, bowing, then turns on his heel to leave.  
  


* * *

  


  
They came in a form of dreams, of hallucinations, of nightmares.

They came in whispers and hisses and sneers.

They came in stares and glares and nasty looks.

They came in these forms, hidden with pity and surprise in their eyes as Minho realized the biggest error he’d ever committed in his whole existence.

Minho could only stare at him, expressionless, breathless, as the words echoed again and again and again.

“Say…say that again?”

The man across him gave him a heavy, judgmental look, his red eyes tinged with anger as he spoke the words once more.

“You imprisoned the wrong vampire, Song Minho.”  
  


* * *

  


  
Senior Lee smiles as soon as the two vampires sit in front of him. “I assume you’re ready, Seungyoon?”

Seungyoon nods. 

“Good,” Senior Lee then shifts his gaze to Minho. “Your Highness, there is not much work for you to do. All you have to do is to keep watch of Seungyoon’s unconscious body, and make sure his heart never falters. Once something suspicious happens, let me know immediately.”

Minho nods. “I understand, Senior Lee.”

“Well then,” Senior Lee hands Minho a matchbox. “Put Seungyoon to sleep.”

Minho blinks, surprised. “Ah?”

“What? He has to be asleep. This boy here can’t sleep by himself, you know!”

Seungyoon flushes in embarrassment. “Teacher!”

“I’m pretty sure you have an idea how to make Seungyoon sleep without using any abrupt force,” Senior Lee smiles, ignoring Seungyoon. “Am I right, Your Highness?”

Minho prays that no one will notice the flush creeping up on his neck. “I do,” he mumbles.

Seungyoon turns his head sharply at him. “You do?!”

Minho doesn’t reply; instead, he fishes his flute from his waistband. “Lie down on those beddings, Seungyoon,” he says, a little stiffly. Despite his bemusement, Seungyoon does as he’s told, Minho pulling up the blankets for him.

“You do really know how to make me sleep?” Seungyoon whispers, still perplexed.

Minho nods, smiling. He doesn’t say a word though.

Placing the flute by his lips, he plays a familiar tune—a song he’d heard so many times already. A song only played whenever he’s around, a lullaby which once echoed around a small room within the secluded part of the forest, fingers dancing on the guzheng’s strings.

Seungyoon’s eyes widen—in recognition or what, Minho doesn’t know—his eyebrows then knitting together, as if trying to remember something.

But Minho doesn’t give him a chance to; he modifies the tune a little, meant to bring lethargy upon Seungyoon. It doesn’t take long before Seungyoon dozes off, and Minho doesn’t stop playing his flute until he’s sure Seungyoon’s deep in slumber.

After a moment, Minho lights up a match, then places the flame by the incense burner.

“You know what awaits you after this, don’t you,” Senior Lee says gravely, the incense smoke curling up beside him. 

Minho nods. “I know,” he whispers, smoothing Seungyoon’s silver hair. “I don’t want to run away anymore, Senior Lee. If he’ll hate me after this…then so be it.”

Senior Lee smiles a little. “Don’t make another mistake again, Minho,” he murmurs. “You’re given another chance—don’t you dare waste it.”

Minho nods once more. “I know, Senior Lee.”


End file.
